


Note #085

by binaryStars



Category: Portal (Video Game)
Genre: I hope you like it, Portal Secret Santa 2017, This is short and bad but
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-01-01
Updated: 2018-01-01
Packaged: 2019-02-26 02:00:24
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Major Character Death
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,396
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13225809
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/binaryStars/pseuds/binaryStars
Summary: The last seven years have been painfully boring, and Wheatley now welcomes his battery draining.





	Note #085

**Author's Note:**

  * For [@Peanutbudd on tumblr!](https://archiveofourown.org/gifts?recipient=%40Peanutbudd+on+tumblr%21).



_> 12:00 a.m.: It’s Christmas Eve! Thank you for doing your best and maintaining your role in this facility, INTELLIGENCE DAMPENING SPHERE!_  
_> 12:00 a.m.: We hope you enjoy the prepared festivities!_  
 _ >12:00 a.m.: If you are asocial, in Android Hell, or are otherwise unable to enjoy the festivities, we apologize for our enthusiasm!_  
 _ >12:00 a.m.: Initiating synchronized 24-hour Christmas carols!_  
 _ >12:00 a.m.: Unable to connect to Aperture Science Facility!_  
 _ >12:00 a.m.: Playing “Christmas Playlist”!_

_> 10:52 p.m.: Note#085 created on December 24th 2017_

Space is so big.

It’s hard to fathom how big it is, actually, without having been in it for the last six years, floating aimlessly, slowly. With every passing second, I get farther and farther away from Earth. It’s now just a tiny, glowing speck, far, far away. I’ll never go back for as long as I live.

My internal calendar tells me that it’s Christmas, and I let out a soft sigh-- my battery power is almost at its end, and I’m sure that I’ll be dead by the end of today.

I’ve long since separated from the Space Core. Sometimes, I think I can still hear a joyful cry of, “SPACE!”, or a tiny movement far in the distance, but when I turn to see, I can’t find anything. It is disguised perfectly among the brilliant twinkling stars surrounding me.

I took up poetry in my third or fourth year out here. I find that my thoughts are now more articulate-- they tend to come in words instead of vague numbers and letters. While my memory is low, I still save my favourite poems (I have a built-in writing program). I should write a Christmas poem-- one last memory before I shut off completely, forever.

What to write about, though…?

What do humans write about when they know they’re about to die? I wish I had taken advantage of being in a supercomputer-- I could have researched human customs, or something sentimental. I, of course, didn’t care about that sort of thing back in the facility, so I can’t beat myself up too badly for not doing it.

My final thoughts, my last regrets would be a good idea… of course, though, on the off chance someone finds me, I wouldn’t want them to think my life was all sorrow of my own creation…  
What would I want them to think? Certainly nothing short of the truth… I would want them to know what I’ve done, certainly, but I’ve come to terms with it, haven’t I? I’ve spent the last seven years feeling as guilty as my processors can, well, process.

...Which isn’t something I would want them to know.

I wouldn’t want them to think of me as a moron-- that is not how I can be remembered. I made moronic mistakes, sure, but overall, through my whole life, well… I find it hard to confine entities to a single adjective. I think “misguided” would be a better word, combined with “impulsive”, “cruel”, and… “testy”. Heheh. Pretty good word, isn’t it? I’m, again, a machine, and as such, I have buttons-- buttons that are easy to push, even if I’m not being directly handled.

I wouldn’t want my fatal mistake to be the only thing remembered about me. I’ve made other mistakes, too, see? Like neglecting my job, letting thousands and thousands of humans die… well, that of course sounds fatal, doesn’t it? Not to me, though. It’s not like I got fired, or anything. Not like there was anyone to fire me, though…

What would have happened if I had gotten fired? Would I have been dismantled, repurposed, or reprogrammed? I suppose I’ll never know the answer to those questions.

But I could’ve.

I once had all the knowledge in the world, you know-- “you know”, right, like I’m talking to anyone, or like anyone can hear my thoughts at all. Still wish I could go back, take that knowledge, and… use it to give my body more memory. I had to delete so much once I got to space-- I kept freezing up, sometimes for hours. And it’s hard to turn myself back on after I’m shut off. So I deleted mostly human things, like how to take care of them or what an “avocado” is. No idea anymore. It’s funny how machine memory works, how once it’s gone, it’s gone forever. Kind of sad, like losing a friend or… losing yourself, maybe.

I know that I’m going to die. I’m not sad about it at all-- I knew it was going to happen the second I got launched into space in the first place. It took me a while to process it, but I got there. Since then, I’ve been coming to terms with my inevitable demise. I’m not afraid of it. At this point, I almost can’t wait for my battery to die-- I’ve been floating so long out here with nothing to do, no one to talk to, and nothing to entertain me that I would welcome being nothing but a cold heap of metal, stuck alone for eternity.

Oh, I’ve gotten off-topic, haven’t I? I still need to figure out what my last poem should be about. I’ve drawn up nothing but my regrets… I’d like nothing more than to not write another poem about them.

Contradictory, isn’t it? Since that’s the only notable moment of my life. The last real moment of my life… which would be a perfect thing to shape into my last words, but… I’ve already done that, yeah?

Hey, how do I turn off this bloody Christmas playlist, anyway? It’s been playing the same three songs since this morning. Maybe I should just delete the playlist…

Oh. I deleted the memory of how to do that.

Maybe my last poem should be the agony I’m living right now, of only listening to Silent Night, Oh Christmas Tree, and Santa, Baby forever. Or, forever until I die, at any rate. Which will be… hopefully soon.

But first, I should write that poem, hm?

_> 11:59 p.m.: Warning, low battery! Please re-attach to your Aperture Science Personality Construct Management Rail, or connect to the facility manually in any way possible, to charge your battery!_

I suppose I should get started then.

_> 12:00 a.m.: Shutting down in T-minus 30 seconds._

What? No!

___> 12:00 a.m.: 30_ _ _

No, no, no, no!

___> 12:00 a.m.: 29_ _ _

I haven’t even-

___> 12:00 a.m.: 28_ _ _

Written the poem, yet!

___> 12:00 a.m.: 27_ _ _

What if someone finds me?

___> 12:00 a.m.: 26_ _ _

What if this isn’t-

___> 12:00 a.m.: 25_ _ _

-really the end for me?

___> 12:00 a.m.: 24_ _ _

It can’t be!

___> 12:00 a.m.: 23_ _ _

I can’t be done with yet!

___> 12:00 a.m.: 22_ _ _

Someone is sup-

___> 12:00 a.m.: 21_ _ _

-posed to find me!

___> 12:00 a.m.: 20_ _ _

No, no, no, no!

___> 12:00 a.m.: 19_ _ _

Okay, I have about-

___> 12:00 a.m.: 18_ _ _

-twenty seconds left!

___> 12:00 a.m.: 17_ _ _

Twenty-second poem!

___> 12:00 a.m.: 16_ _ _

I wish, I wish

___> 12:00 a.m.: 15_ _ _

With all my heart

___> 12:00 a.m.: 14_ _ _

That I could go back

___> 12:00 a.m.: 13_ _ _

And restart

___> 12:00 a.m.: 12_ _ _

The lies, the loss

___> 12:00 a.m.: 11_ _ _

This poem, too

___> 12:00 a.m.: 10_ _ _

Since it was sup-

___> 12:00 a.m.: 9_ _ _

-posed to be about

___> 12:00 a.m.: 8_ _ _

Annoying Christmas carols

___> 12:00 a.m.: 7_ _ _

I botched this pro-

___> 12:00 a.m.: 6_ _ _

-ject; Like I

___> 12:00 a.m.: 5_ _ _

Botched my escape plan

___> 12:00 a.m.: 4_ _ _

Surprise, surprise

___> 12:00 a.m.: 3_ _ _

Great, now I need to

___> 12:00 a.m.: 2_ _ _

restart. What’s the time

_> 12:00 a.m.: 1_  
_> 12:00 a.m.: Forcing shut down._  
 _ >12:00 a.m.: . . ._  
 _ >12:00 a.m.: Shutting down core functions._  
 _ >12:00 a.m.: . . . . . . . . . ._  
 _ >12:00 a.m.: Would you like to save Note#085?_  
 _ >12:00 a.m.: Note#085 was not saved._  
 _ >12:00 a.m.: Note#085 has been backed up on Aperture Cloud._  
 _ >12:00 a.m.: You may retrieve your file_


End file.
